Through the Wilderness
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Prompt: virgin!Richard. And Isobel.


**Ok, so I was left some fantastic prompts and this is the first one. virgin!Richard, we're sick of perfect mind-blowing sex. (I kind of agree). Yes, the title is a Madonna reference. **

She tried not to look at him in horror when he told her. Well, not horror, exactly, but shock, at the very least. She had known there was something bothering him, she had sensed a definite reserve, an anxiety as he kissed her. But she hadn't expected it to stem from _that _of all things.

And she saw the disappointment, the resignation, in his eyes as he took in her expression.

"I told you," he spoke quietly, his voice dismal with defeat, "I knew you wouldn't want to when you knew."

"Don't be silly, Richard," she told him quickly, "Of course I still want to," she ran her hand gently over his face, cupping his cheek reassuringly, down over his chest, trying both to soothe him and to convince him of her desire for him, "This doesn't change anything." She pressed her lips against his, kissing him heatedly, until she felt him him relax a little and then moan quietly against her mouth, "That's not to say I'm not surprised, though," she told him, a moment later, "In fact, I'm quite astonished that you've never-… And this is speaking as a woman who's now seen you without your shirt on," she added, running an appreciative hand down his chest once again.

He gave her a smile, a little nervous still, though he had managed to make the confession he seemed to have been silently building up to since she had first kissed him.

"I suppose I never found the right woman," he told her quietly.

A smile spread across her face.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked him carefully.

"Do you mean now, or with you?"

There was a moment's silence.

"Both, I suppose," she replied bravely.

"Of course I want you, Isobel," he murmured quietly, his hand tangling in the hair hand fallen loose down her back, "I love you so much. You're so beautiful," he leant forwards, trying to look into her eyes, waiting for her to look at him properly before telling her, "You are the only woman I want to do this with."

"And now?" she asked him.

"I've wanted it for years," he told her truthfully, "Only it was never quite the moment-… And I never quite knew how-…"

"To go about it?" she finished for him.

He nodded silently.

"Or if you'd want me to," he added a moment later.

"Oh, Richard, my love, my dear sweet man. You could have gone about it years ago, and made me very happy indeed," she told him softly, caressing the back of his head.

"I realise that now," he replied, as her lips left his after another heady kiss.

She laughed softly, her hands still caressing him, continually trying to soothe him.

"Don't be nervous," she whispered, her thumb tracing along the line of his collarbone, "I'm very forgiving. I have to be. My first time was a total disaster. And not because of Reginald."

"What happened?" he asked her curiously.

She told him, and he winced. He had to admit, that sounded very painful.

She laughed softly.

"I know," she replied, "Poor Reginald. It was very brave of him to ever share a bed with me again after that."

"Somehow, I doubt that," he murmured, his hands tracing down to her breasts, still covered by the lace of her brassiere.

"Flatterer," she murmured, smiling. "I have improved a lot since then, by the way," she added, "So don't worry."

"Thank god for that," he murmured ruefully.

She slapped his chest playfully, and he laughed, drawing her closer. Her arms wrapped around her and she simply held him, and he her for a little while.

"That's not to say I might not be a little out of practice," she added after a moment's thought, "I don't get many outings these days. You'll have to forgive me."

"There will be nothing to forgive," he assured her, his lips seek out hers once more, "Not on my part, anyway."

"Richard," she murmured, her hands still soothing over him as she kissed him, "Darling."

Carefully, she reached around her back and guided his hand towards the clasp of her brassiere, helping him to click it open. It fell away and he helped to ease the straps off the delicate skin of her shoulders. His lips followed the fabric, planting kisses in it wake as he went.

"Oh, Richard," she moaned softly, falling back onto the bed, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"That's as maybe," he replied, but he relaxed a little more, thankful for her words.

He looked down at her, surveying her, naked to the red waistband of her skirt, the pearly white skin contrasting with the dark material. His breath left him in a long shudder.

"You're beautiful, Isobel."

"You're not so bad yourself," she replied, caressing his chest again, as he cautiously stretched out beside her.

He went to cup her breast, going about it absurdly cautiously.

"Have you ever touched a woman's breast before?" she asked him gently.

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"I am a doctor," he replied.

She bit her lip, biting back a laugh at her own momentary lapse into forgetfulness.

"You know what I mean," she told him.

"Not in so many words," he replied, quietly, then, a moment later, meeting her gaze, "I don't want to hurt you, Isobel."

"You won't," she told him softly, "Don't worry, my darling," there was a moment's silence, "Please touch me if you want to."

He did so, cupping her breast again, gently in his hand and then a moment later, kneading it softly.

"Oh, yes, Richard, that feels good," she told him quietly.

Her head arched back onto the pillow. Moved his body over hers, so his bare chest pressed against hers.

"Oh, Richard," she moaned, her hips rolling upwards, brushing against his excitement.

He let out a long long breath, desperately trying to steady himself.

"Oh, Isobel."

He was already painfully aroused. Fortunately, she seemed to hear the strain in his voice.

"Do you think you can last?" she asked him.

He thought it best to err on the side of honesty rather than overconfidence.

"I'm not sure," he confessed meekly.

"Come on, then" she told him, shifting a little beneath him, "You'd better have me now."

"You managed to make that sound terribly romantic," he told her, his eyebrows raised again.

"Well, you know what I mean," she told him, huffing a little, "Shift over a little bit, Richard, and I'll get my skirt off."

Never a woman to shirk from the direct approach, Isobel Crawley. She stood, removing her skirt, her underclothes and stockings as he unfastened his trousers, and removed them, with difficulty. As she turned back towards him, naked as the day she was born, their momentary blip seemed to vanish from their minds. His hand shook as he reached out for her.

"Goddess," he managed to choke.

She smiled, her lips so close to his and she walked on her knees until her thighs were spread over his legs.

"Flanneller," she murmured as their lips met.

He could feel her heat so close to his excitement. It was torture.

"Can I touch you?" he asked her.

"Yes," she murmured, "Please."

Reaching out, he slipped his fingers gently over her folds. While not unacquainted with female anatomy, this surpassed every experience to date. She was so… wet. Tentatively, he slipped a finger inside of her, and she groaned appreciatively.

"Not that I'm not enjoying this immensely," she told him softly, stilling his hand with her own, "But I seem to remember there was something else we were attending to. Don't worry," she told him, trying to quell the nerves in his eyes, "You were doing that ever so nicely, Richard. And I'll show you so much more, very soon."

He swallowed hard. He would have to look forward to that.

She was bearing down over him, her hands were caressing his head again.

"You just leave everything to me," she told him quietly, "Alright?"

He nodded. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him again before she sank down onto him. She did it slowly, she was so tight, he could feel himself stretching her. He watched her face carefully for any sign of discomfort. Her eyes were closed, seemingly in concentration.

"Are you alright?" he managed to ask her.

She nodded.

"Are you?" she asked in reply.

"Yes," he murmured throatily.

"Then I'm alright too," she told him gently.

And then she began to move. And his hips bucked. He had never felt anything like this before. He groaned into her neck, her legs were around his back and she used her arms over his shoulders to give herself leverage.

"Isobel-…" he groaned loudly.

"I know, sweetheart," she told him, between heavy breaths, "I know, my love."

He kissed every inch of her he could, seeking to anchor himself to her somehow, before he became too short of breath to even manage it anymore. What she was doing to him, what she was making him feel, his body do-…

"Darling, I can't-… I'm going to-…"

"It's alright," she whispered in his ear, "Come for me, my love."

He would have been hard-pressed to refuse her command even if he'd wanted to.

Gasping, she eased him to lie down, her legs still draped over him, as his body slid out of hers. Her arms wrapped around his chest, and she ran hand over his bicep.

"I'm sorry," he panted, as soon as he regained the power of speech.

"What are you sorry for?" she asked him.

He was not so out of breath that he couldn't raise his eyebrows at her.

"Oh, that," she said too dismissively to entirely convince him, "It doesn't matter. It was nice just to be with you, Richard."

"I don't want it to be nice," he protested, "Just nice, I mean!" he added, seeing the look on her face.

"Rome wasn't built in a day," she reminded him gently.

"I know, but-…"

"Get some rest," she told him softly, kissing his temple, "And when I'm convinced that you're not still beating yourself up about it, then I'll see about showing you those things I talked about before."

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time. **


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